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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536040">Fireworks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum'>InnerSpectrum</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [54]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, New York City, mystrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:15:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During celebration of an annual American holiday thoughts spark. Greg looks out of his apartment window admiring the view as he comes to an important decision.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [54]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1090899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fireworks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Fireworks</p><p>These last few one-shots have turned into something of a continuing story. While each stands on its own, based on its prompt, if it fits, I will be reordering them around to fit the tale chronologically as needed. This mini series begins at Part 45 with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886461">"Out of Time"</a> and continues through here.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Greg stood by the large picture of his living room. It was not given much thought when he purchased the condo knowing how few hours of daylight he would get to enjoy it with his busy schedule. Still two years of living here, every now and then he did get to enjoy the view.</p><p>
  <em>This is one of those times. </em>
</p><p>It was the one American holiday that most of Britain acknowledged with humorous chagrin: The Fourth of July aka Independence Day. It was a major holiday in the United States and the American members of his team made it known in no uncertain terms that they were not coming in. The day had been an easy one work wise because the office was a ghost town when he went in for a few hours, now he was home again.</p><p>Last year he had spent it with his work colleague Luis Reyes and his family. “Seriously, G, whatcha gonna do? Mope in that pretty condo?” Luis had cajoled, “Come to my place and see up close and personal how hard we Yankees party at cutting our apron strings from you Brits!"</p><p>Greg learned within an hour of his arrival to the Reyes' home why those in the know rescheduled an important meeting he had set for the morning of July 5<sup>th</sup> moved to the next morning. Luis worked hard and partied that way as well. Greg certainly enjoyed the copious consumption of alcohol and the delicious pernil asado, among other things. It was nice to sit back and enjoy the, likely illegal, fireworks display from someone in the neighborhood.</p><p>It promised to be a clear evening weather wise and he enjoyed the excellent early evening view was spread out before him in splendor as The Big Apple, as New York City is also nicknamed, transitioned from day to night. Greg idly noticed he saw more ships in the distance than he could recall seeing before from his view of the East River. He realized they were most likely the ships that held the pyrotechnics for the annual display given by some department store. He wondered for a moment if he should put on the telly. He would be able to see the display from his window, but he would not be able to hear the music. He did not move.</p><p>Maybe it was the overload of work, but Greg was not feeling festive.</p><p><em>Maybe it is the Brit in me</em>, he mused, but he knew there was only one thing that would make him feel festive.</p><p>
  <em>Mycroft loved this view, I wish he was here. </em>
</p><p>He realized the last time he stood at the window like that was with his fiancé. Greg looked at his reflection in the window. If he squinted just right he could all but see the reflection of the man that he loved in more than his memory. It was after Greg’s release from the hospital. Greg was still too hurt then to fully celebrate being a couple again, an engaged one at that, the way they wanted. He had stood behind Mycroft, his arms wrapped around the Iceman’s body as they gazed out the window whispering words of when they can be fully together again.</p><p>It was a surprise, when two weeks later the Mycroft had hopped a plane and crossed the ocean for a meeting he did not need to attend, just to see him for a couple of hours afterward. Lestrade’s people were not happy at his sudden departure from the office, but Greg could not have cared less. Mycroft had to leave that same night to return to London. Their time together was truly just for a couple of hours. Just enough time for a good dinner - and a serious make out session in the sedan on the way to the airport as though they were horny teens and not two well-respected men of government and law, but it had been wonderful. Neither wanted their first time together in two years to be a rushed affair.</p><p>Greg’s breath hitched in the memory of how tenderly Mycroft had held him before he stepped away to board the private jet back to London. It took everything he had to let Mycroft walk away alone. He had wanted nothing so badly as to board that plane and go with him back to London. Mycroft had promised the next time he came to New York City he would be staying the night and they would celebrate properly.</p><p>Greg missed so many people in London. Those at the Met like DIs Dimmock and Hopkins. He especially missed Sally Donovan. Sally who had finally worked around her animosity of Sherlock and called him in on a tough case. Naturally, they gave each other grief, but together they had solved it. Greg had skyped with Sherlock later, to congratulate him on not killing her or embarrassing her in public. The genius conceded that he and Donovan were never going to be friendly, but if they can continue to not viciously insult each other they could work together if they must. Greg considered that a win.</p><p>He missed being near his family. What his mum had been through thinking him dead! His older sister, Lisette later admitted to Greg that she had been scared at how badly their mother had taken his presumed death. The scare from the firebombing and the hours of unnecessary mourning would never have happened had he been on that side of the Pond.</p><p>Of course, he missed his fiancé. It was easier for Mycroft to get to him than the reverse, but it is not the same thing as being there in London, where they were less than an hour away depending on traffic. Sharing a love with several hours and an ocean between them was already proving to be much more difficult than Greg ever imagined. It was better than the heartbreaking nothing that the two years apart had been, but it was hardly enough. He worked with an international task force. He could make argument he needed to be hands-on over seas more.</p><p>
  <em>International. </em>
</p><p>He had gone home twice and worked from there, it would be different people, but he has already proved it can be done.</p><p>
  <em>Home.</em>
</p><p>New York City was beautiful, but even after two years of living here, he knows when he thinks of home it is never going to be the lights and sounds of The City the Never Sleeps.</p><p>New York City with 25 bridges crossing its waterways was a lot like London, a city of 33 bridges. Greg’s eyes see the bridges crossing the East River from his window, but in his heart, he is looking some of the bridges that cross the Thames. Particularly the Westminster Bridge not far from New Scotland Yard.</p><p>He simply missed that great cesspool, into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are drained, called London.</p><p>
  <em>New York City was beautiful… I said “was.” As in the past tense. As though I no longer live here.</em>
</p><p>Greg knew in that moment that his time of living in New York City was waning.</p><p>Night had almost fallen on the city. London was five hours ahead of them by the clock, but Greg knew Mycroft would be awake and called.</p><p>“The doorman called, didn’t he?” Mycroft sounded a little annoyed. “Could he not wait?”</p><p>“Wait? Wait for what?” Greg frowned, confused by Mycroft’s words.</p><p>“For me to ring your doorbell of course.” The British Government’s smooth vocal teased.</p><p>Greg’s eyes went wide when his doorbell rang just then. Greg ran to his door and threw it open.</p><p>“What! What are you doing here?! I love it!”</p><p>Mycroft stood there in three-piece suited elegance as he pocketed his cell phone. An overnight bag was in one hand, and a bottle of champagne in the other.</p><p>“Hello, my love.” Mycroft sauntered into the apartment. There really was no other word for it as he entered and closed the door behind him. He placed the bag on the sofa and the champagne on a side table. Mycroft took out his cell phone and sent a quick text. Greg suspected it was to Anthea letting her knew he arrived.</p><p>“If you weren’t expecting me, why were you calling?” Mycroft asked.</p><p>“I want to come home.” Greg said plainly. “I know I don’t have to. I know I don’t need to. I know we can make this work out and live as a long distance couple. Millions do – we most certainly can. I don’t want to. You are the reason I left London, but it’s more than you that’s brining me back.”</p><p>Greg then explained all of his thoughts and how he can make the move and still continue doing the work he has come to love. Mycroft had nothing to say. Greg knew it was not because it worked in his favor, but because Gregory had clearly thought it all out. There were no faults in his logic, nor his sentiment.</p><p>By then Mycroft had opened the champagne and poured a couple of glasses. With a sly grin he took Greg by the hand, led him to the window, and pulled him into his arms. “I believe then we owe each other a night of celebrating homecoming in more ways than one. Need I say more?”</p><p>“Just one more thing…” Greg smiled tenderly as he looked into Mycroft’s eyes.</p><p>“What’s that?” Mycroft returned the smile.</p><p>Greg brought their lips together in a soft kiss that quickly deepened in need.</p><p>When they came up for air minutes later Greg grinned at the fireworks over the river that had begun.</p><p>“I love you.” Mycroft whispered as he loosened a button on Greg’s shirt.</p><p>“And God help me, I still love you.” Greg’s fingers grabbed Mycroft by the tie as he started walking backwards towards his bedroom and pulled him along.</p><p>The two men smiled, knowing the pyrotechnics that flared over the river would not be the only fireworks that night.</p>
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